


hungry like the

by Anonymous



Category: Vinland Saga (Manga)
Genre: Brother/Brother Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Manipulation, Period-Typical Attitudes Toward Consent, Period-Typical Sexism, Period-typical bottomphobia, Rape Roleplay, Sibling Incest, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 22:42:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21260837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Thorgil imparts a lesson.





	hungry like the

**Author's Note:**

> sorry but this manga is rough tough brotherfuck heaven

The candles are dwindling and everyone else is off to bed when it starts. Even the slaves are gone, dismissed with a wave of Thorgil's hand—and if Dad lets them act too big for their britches at times, they know better than to hang around when Thorgil wants them gone. Olmar watches admiringly, thinks about practicing that curt little wave for himself, as he tries to picture himself with a beard to match his brother's, sending lesser men silent on the battlefield with a single gesture.  
  
Alone, the conversation drifts to Thorgil's favorite subject. Olmar's too, but he has to admit Thorgil's the only one who's actually been off to war. And now that he's grown he feels more and more awkward listening to his brother's stories, rapt, with nothing of his own to add. Thorgil must feel the same way, because he turns to him suddenly in the candlelight and speaks.  
  
"Listen to me, Olmar. You have strong blood in you. My blood. The blood of Iron Fist Ketil. And yet here you sit. What are you going to be, Olmar? A farmer?"  
  
"Hell no! I'm gonna be a warrior like you, bro! I swear! I've been—"  
  
"You had a woman yet?"  
  
Olmar's hurt he'd even ask. "Of course! Tons. They can't get enough of me!"  
  
"Ever won a fight?"  
  
The question is so direct it stuns him into honesty. "N-not exac—I mean, define 'win.'"  
  
Thorgil laughs. His laugh is a low thing, different from the usual bark that used to set the slaves quivering in their boots. "You think those are different questions?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"How do you think I get my relief when I'm on the battlefield? What kind of women do you think I find before me when we start looting a English town?"  
  
"But don't they, you know...." He clears his throat, not sure why he's having trouble speaking. "Don't they fight back?"  
  
"That's what I'm trying to tell you, little brother. A farmer may take a wife peaceably, but a warrior takes his women by force. Which way are you living?"  
  
"I-I..." Why does Thorgil always have to show him just how unmanly his way of thinking is? "Why should I have to force anybody? I'm desirable! If I was out on the battlefield, I'd just awe them with my skill and make them want me."  
  
"The weak have one right, Olmar. The right to struggle. The mouse is born to run from the owl just as the owl is born to catch it. The strong are strong because they win. That's what it is to be a man."  
  
"I thought battle was about... I thought it was just a guy thing."  
  
"Haven't you ever seen animals fuck? Real animals, not the degenerate kind Dad keeps. In the wild, the male runs the female down. And the children he gives her are that much stronger if she can put up a fight, and he can overcome it."  
  
Olmar looks down at the floor. The slaves haven't swept it yet, and there are traces of their meal lying there. He wonders how strong the suckling pig's parents were. "I guess so."  
  
"It happens to men, you know."  
  
Olmar lifts his head sharply and stares at his brother, unbelieving. "To men?"  
  
"Well, not to farmers, I'd imagine. Not unless they're in captured territory. But to warrior men." Thorgil grins that grin of his, the one that shows teeth like a snarl through the gap in his lip. "And that's when you stop being a man. If you survive the experience."  
  
"To _us_?" He doesn't know who exactly he means by _us_.  
  
Thorgil reaches for him. "I worry about you, little brother. At your age I wasn't just grown, I was a man. Just because you can grow this—" —his thumb runs slow and warm over Olmar's mustache— "you think you're on your way? There's as much distance between man and boy as there is between man and woman. Except that a boy can learn to become a man."  
  
His skin feels too warm. On his face, all over. "If I wasn't stuck on this stupid farm..."  
  
Thorgil is close, suddenly, and now his brother's hands are on him. His shoulders, his hips, his—  
  
"This is the tool of a Norseman, Olmar. The only sword we're all born with. When it stands up—that's when the blood of Iron Fist Ketil is burning inside you. There we go." Olmar's cock strains against the front of his breeches. Thorgil laughs again, cupping it. "So at least we know you can work that one."  
  
"Bro..." His voice is too weak, he hates the fucking sound of it as soon as he hears it. It's so embarrassing how fast he gets hard, it makes him feel like a stupid kid. At least it doesn't seem like Thorgil's gonna make fun of that.  
  
"What do you say to a lesson, little brother?"  
  
"L-lesson?" Olmar barely recognizes his own voice.  
  
"A warning, and a learning experience. Of what it means to live a warrior's life."  
  
There's blood rushing in his ears, so hard he almost doesn't hear his, "Okay."  
  
"That means I'm going to fuck you. You have figured that out?"  
  
"Yeah," Olmar says, thickly.  
  
"You won't really be losing your manhood," Thorgil says thoughtfully. "Haven't found it yet, after all." He grabs the remains of a drumstick and squeezes, licks his thumb and wiggles the other fingers, now shining with grease. "You're in luck. Don't always have this to hand."  
  
"What're you talking about?"  
  
"I hope you've noticed by now that your arse doesn't exactly do the same job a twat does, little brother. Unless you want it dry, and I don't think you do."  
  
Olmar swallows. "O-Oh."  
  
"Blood works, up to a point," Thorgil muses, "But it's so much easier when you catch ‘em just before a meal." Then, seeing Olmar's face: "Come on, what kind of big brother do you take me for? I told you I'm using grease."  
  
"Right," he mumbles. He didn't mean to doubt Thorgil or anything, and he's embarrassed that it looked that way. His bro is the manliest guy on the whole farm, probably in all the surrounding territories, and he has a Viking's honor. Sure he teases, but of course he wouldn't do anything like that to his own brother.  
  
"Where do you want it? Not that you'd have a choice," Thorgil adds.  
  
"Are there two options?" He's had a man's body his whole life, and he thought he was pretty good at using it, but this is just getting more and more confusing.  
  
"I'm hearing the table."  
  
"Oh. Yeah... that's fine."  
  
His brother bends him easily over the table with the strength that's carried him through scores of battles. He's not being forced, but he easily might be—a thrill goes through him at the thought. He can't tell if it's fear or excitement (not that he knows anything of fear), but his cock is practically thudding as his breeches are pulled down. He wonders how Thorgil knows so much about this and realizes that he already knows the answer.  
  
His brother is doing this, his head reminds him, his _brother_! But Thorgil knows what it is to be a man. He knows what Olmar could be, if he's just given the chance. He'd never do anything that would really ruin his chances on the battlefield. This has to help. It has to be good for him.  
  
Thorgil's fingers are rough even with the lubricant. Olmar can feel the scars, the calluses he eyes with envy, working inside him, getting him ready for something he hasn't let himself picture yet. It feels... nice. He hadn't known anything could feel nice back there. He relaxes slowly, relieved at how easy this is. For a few minutes he thinks manliness might be within his reach after all.  
  
Then Thorgil pulls his fingers out, leaving them just at the entrance, holding it open—and the weight and heft of manhood is driven home.  
  
Thorgil's hair is trailing against the back of his neck now. "Let me know if you think I'm about to do permanent damage. I don't have much experience being careful."  
  
"Mm." Olmar feels dazed, halfway betwen pleasure and pain. Gods, is this what it feels like for a woman? He pictures the faces of the women he's had, sees them twist in discomfort, in fear, and he shudders. He hopes suddenly that he's not as big as he'd always told himself.  
  
"That's it. Struggle and squirm for me, Olmar. Teach yourself what a real man sticks his cock in. I'd tell you to scream, but we have your reputation to think about. Understand, though, you _would_ be screaming."  
  
"R-right," he manages. He tries to fake a struggle but can only manage to rock back and forward, until it's finally more good than pain, and as the minutes go by he finds that he needs to pass this test more than anything else in the world. He needs to learn what Thorgil is trying to teach him, needs Thorgil to see that he's trying, needs _Thorgil.  
_  
"See, if this were real you'd be begging by now."  
  
Olmar struggles to think, summons every ounce of Viking in his body. "Please, bro! Fuck me harder! I wanna be like you!"  
  
"Ohh, that's good," Thorgil moans. "I meant begging for me to stop, but..." His arms circle around Olmar's shoulders, hold him as tenderly as Olmar's have ever held a woman. "Keep going."  
  
"I wanna be a real man." His eyes are half-closed, the empty plates in front of him a blur, part of no real life he can remember. "I w-want... you to teach me, want you to make me cum..."  
  
He can feel the tear in Thorgil's lips as his brother's mouth closes over the tip of his ear, teeth scraping delicately against the flesh, and his whole body shudders convulsively.  
  
"You're not half bad at this, you know." Thorgil's breath is heavy in his ear. "If your arse wasn't so tight I might start to worry."  
  
Olmar still hasn't figured out if he's supposed to be enjoying this or not, but praise from Thorgil is rare, and he savors it even as he tries to keep going. "I—I need this. I need to be like you. I can do it. I swear—"  
  
"I'm on your side, little brother. I want the house of Ketil to be blessed with another fine warrior. But don't forget, Olmar, this is loss. This is shame. This is what waits for those who try and fail." A bite, almost too hard, on the back of his neck. "Right now, I am your conqueror."  
  
"I know," Olmar says, voice shaking, his arse full and his cock pressed up against the table, begging him for relief with a mind of its own. "I know. You always are."  
  
Thorgil hisses, grips his hips hard enough to hurt. "Who taught a thug like you how to talk like this? You'll make me need this again."  
  
When he cums it's the same shot of pleasure he's known since hair started to grow on his face, mixed with pride at driving Thorgil to the bark that accompanies his own climax. But there's something else in there, something beyond the soreness of his arse, something just a little bit wrong, in a way he can't recognize.  
  
"Well, I've had prettier boys, but you're not the worst fuck I've had. Who knows, maybe you were made to be a whore." Thorgil checks a skin for any remaining drops of wine, drops it irritably when he finds none. "You'd better wash your arse out, I hear grease goes bad in there." He laughs sharply. "Not that I'd know." Turns to look at Olmar, grinning. "We'll make a man of you yet, little brother."  
  
Olmar's never traveled far from the farm, but right now, with the tips of his teeth showing in the guttering candlelight, Thorgil looks less like a man and more like the creature he's always pictured when he hears _wolf_. And he's afraid, he realizes. He's deathly frightened that there's no blood running through his own veins but that of the lamb.

**Author's Note:**

> olmar: idk bro i'm thinking i might reject toxic masculinity, become a good person and stop letting you ride my ass when you visit home  
thorgil: i hate this FUCKING FAMILY (storms out of vinland saga forever)


End file.
